The Other Side
by Jemmiah
Summary: Attachment may be forbidden in the Jedi order but what lengths will a force user dare stoop to reclaim the one they care for?
1. Chapter 1

**The Other Side  
By:** Jemmiah  
**Set:** 6 years or so before TPM  
**Author's Note:** This story forms part of the Jemmiah Chronicles but no prior knowledge is really needed to understand the story. That said, if anyone wishes to read the rest of the JemChron stories they can be found archived at the _Hell's Chance Cantina_ by visiting the address noted in my details.

* * *

Before the blackness engulfed him Qui-Gon had sensed the presence of another being not far away from him in the cove…and it hadn't been Obi-Wan.

Nor had it been Jemmiah, whom he had last seen hobbling barefoot across the stones in search for interesting shells to make into necklaces. He'd remembered wondering if he should allow her to go so far away or whether he should perhaps follow her to be certain of her safety. And Obi-Wan…he'd swum as gleefully and gracefully as an eel towards the small, distant island with its jagged black rock protruding from the water like an up-stretched arm. For all that it had been an exercise to strengthen the body and focus the mind Qui-Gon had been pleased to see his padawan taking so much delight in the little test. The last thing he remembered was seeing Jemmiah standing on her tiptoes at the edge of a large, slippery rock whilst scanning the sea for any sign of Obi-Wan…and then the sand had rushed up to meet him with a thud that shook his whole body.

Something had hit him. Something had knocked him down with the power of a speeder hitting an insect. He didn't know what it was or how long he had remained unconscious, but slowly he began to test his body to see if any damage had been done. It remained leaden and numb, as if stunned by some unforeseen impact. His mind was hazy at best, but slowly at least some of his mental faculties were beginning to return. Had Obi-Wan sensed the incident through their bond, he wondered groggily? And where was Jemmiah? What if she too had suffered the same immobilisation and was lying somewhere, hurt or unconscious? What if she had fallen in the water and had drowned, unable to pull herself back out?

The thought galvanised Qui-Gon enough so that he opened one eye - and found himself squinting uncertainly up at a short, shadowy figure that split briefly into two; then as the roaring in his ears subsided melded back into a single being once again. Fighting back considerable nausea Qui-Gon was aware that regardless of how many people his double vision told him there might be, he was in reality dealing with one individual…and that person was armed with a gun.

A gun that was aimed straight in his direction.

After a few moments the blurred and indistinct shadow began to develop features. The face was young: far younger than that of Obi-Wan, although possessing a strong and rounded chin. The lips were set into a determined line and the short, stocky build leant him a somewhat robust appearance. But what Qui-Gon found himself focusing on was the eyes: green and angry…frustrated even. Perhaps a touch frightened? He did not need the force to tell him that the individual who had stunned him was more than a little confused. The boy licked his lips nervously for a moment and then looked along the sight of the blaster, aiming the gun once more at Qui-Gon's heart.

Jinn stared back at him. If he'd had the strength he'd have gathered the force and tossed the blaster disdainfully out of the young man's hand. If breathing hadn't seemed so difficult he might have engaged his tormentor in conversation: maybe tried to gain his trust and win him over. Or if his body had obeyed him instead of lying unresponsive like a dead weight he might possibly, in a worst case scenario, bested the boy with his physical strength. Instead Qui-Gon found himself on his back, sand in his hair, mouth and eyes, a small trickle of blood running from his nose from the impact of the stunning device.

_It must have been used at close range,_ Qui-Gon winced, _Judging by the way I feel. And yet this boy could not have gotten so close without my sensing him. He could not have fired the weapon without my knowing he was there. And if he had then there is a good chance he would have killed me…_

And then there was the weapon. Even half out of his wits Qui-Gon could see that it was not a stunning device, but a good old-fashioned blaster. Set to kill and maim, not merely bring a man down. There were many parts of the puzzle that simply did not make sense.

The blaster seemed to waver fractionally in the boy's hand, and Qui-Gon tried and - to his surprise - succeeded in flexing his fingers. It was enough however to put the young man on his guard, and this time the blaster remained unremittingly focused on the prone Jedi.

"Don't move." The belligerent voice warned him. "Don't try _any_ tricks. I'm not a great aim with these things…" Qui-Gon watched as the blood appeared to drain rapidly from his foe's face, the hands suddenly shaking as he edged closer towards him. "I've…I've never shot anyone before. I don't want to make you suffer unnecessarily, so if you move it might be more painful for you. Keep still and it will be over quickly..."

Qui-Gon didn't move. He kept his eyes locked upon the sandy haired youth as he edged ever closer, trying to delay the moment for as long as he could. The boy was no killer, clearly, as even the thought of terminating somebody's life was obviously distressing him more than it was the Jedi. Again the young man subconsciously licked his lips, unnerved by Qui-Gon's stillness and calm, unblinking eyes.

_I do not fear death._ Qui-Gon thought emotionlessly as he waited for the boy to squeeze the trigger. _But I have Obi-Wan and Jemmiah to think of…am I ready to relinquish this existence just yet?_ He tried and failed one more time to gather the force around him and push the youth to the ground. There was no strength…no energy. It was as if the force had died within him. Beyond and around him it swirled just out of reach, mocking his inability to focus.

The boy gritted his teeth, half closed his eyes in desperation and began to let his finger pull back upon the catch…and Qui-Gon waited patiently for the end. Maybe it was his time. Perhaps that was all the force would allow him. Should he fight the will of the force? But when had he ever not challenged the rules dictated by others?

His calm acceptance was shattered not by the sound of blaster fire but by the scurry of feet and the swirl of sand beside his head. Bare legs appeared from nowhere and with them the rustling of pink skirts. The sun was suddenly blocked by the presence of another, placing themselves between the source of threat and his own enfeebled body. Qui-Gon felt real, genuine fear rise like bile in his throat, replacing his composure with helplessness.

_What is she doing?_ The alarm began to build within him. _This will achieve nothing except bring herself directly into danger!_

The boy looked shocked from what he could just about discern from behind Jemmiah's right shoulder. A new and unexpected challenge lay before him, wearing an expression of outright defiance, eyes blazing in a fury of Corellian indignation. The girl, her long hair whipping Qui-Gon's face in the breeze threw herself directly across the Jedi's chest, glaring directly up at the barrel of the blaster and the shaken face beyond it.

"If you're gonna kill anyone," she spat back at him, "go ahead and try. But you'll have to kill me first, because I'm not moving from here…"

Qui-Gon struggled to no avail against the invisible bonds that tied him down. He could face his own death if needs be with dignity and equanimity, but to see Jemmiah thus endangered made the hammering of his heart increase to the point where he thought both she and his captor must surely hear it. Unable to help in any way Qui-Gon could only compare himself to a fly struggling against the silken thread of a spider's web whilst all the time his enemy watched his enfeebled attempts to escape, waiting its moment to strike…

But the spider did not strike. It stood, uncertain of what to do, the blaster slowly and inexorably rising and lowering with each ragged breath. The battle no longer seemed to exist between himself and his youthful protagonist but rather within the boy's own mind: Qui-Gon could see humiliation and guilt, horror and fear warring with one another within the turbulent sea green eyes. The youth's face hardened…the blaster rising one final time…

And then he allowed it to fall hopelessly by his side.

"I can't…I can't do it." His voice was a desperate half-sob. "I'm sorry, master. I _can't_ kill them."

The threat was gone in a heartbeat leaving behind a broken, pitiful child in its wake. He was little older than Jemmiah, Qui-Gon thought wearily, slowly feeling sensation beginning to return to his body. The blaster still dangled impotently from the youth's fingertips but the will to use the weapon had long since dissipated…and frankly Qui-Gon wondered now if he had ever been capable of firing it. There was no hate or malice visible, only abject unhappiness. And still the question remained as to why he had attacked them in the first place when he was quite clearly not a willing party in the affair…

Jemmiah had less forgiveness in her, but then she had seen first hand the devastation that blasters could bring. Qui-Gon didn't have to see the look on her face to know she was boiling over with anger: anger born of relief and distress. He could feel the shaking of her body against his as she slowly raised herself up, not completely trusting their aggressor lest he change his mind and strike.

"Give me the blaster." She held out her hand, her voice trembling. The young man stared disconsolately at the sand between his toes, not able to face her directly. A flush of violent scarlet blazed across his cheeks, and Jemmiah could see that it was not some act to put them off their guard: he was beaten…humiliated. At any moment Jemmiah expected him to run away and bust into tears like a child who'd had his bolo ball stolen from him - and yet he remained rooted to the spot.

_He's got nowhere to go._ Jemmiah realised, finally allowing a certain amount of sympathy soothe her fury at what had nearly happened to Qui-Gon. _He doesn't know what to do…it's like he's waiting for Quiggy to get better and knock him into the middle of next week…_

She raised her chin, forcing her voice to sound commanding and supercilious.

"Throw it away then, if you won't give it to me." Jemmy eyed him coolly.

The boy swallowed, hesitating. He looked down at the blaster in his hand as if it were covered with some unseen gore, and gave an involuntary shudder that Jemmiah managed to catch. Quickly, as if afraid he might somehow change his mind the boy's arm snapped out, causing her to jump backwards. He held the blaster out to her making no attempt to come any closer to either of them. Despite her brave words Jemmiah did not particularly want to take the blaster from him, afraid to touch an object that was capable of such extreme violence.

But she couldn't sit there forever, just waiting for the tide to come in and wash them away. Carefully, head still held impossibly high; Jemmiah got up from her knees and stood, her eyes not so much as wavering from the boy's face. She could imagine the anxiety that Qui-Gon must have been experiencing, Jedi or no, as she took a couple of reluctant paces towards the sandy haired youth, her own hand extending to collect the blaster. Her breath caught in her throat as she halted an arm's length away from him, half expecting him to change his mind and blast her in the stomach. His face however never altered from its expression of defeat, except when his uncertain eyes raised up to meet hers.

Quick as a lightening flash Jemmiah swiped the blaster from his hand and clutched it against her chest, backing away from him as rapidly as she could, keeping him in plain sight all the while. And still the boy made no attempt to run away.

She retreated until she felt the water at her ankles, some ten paces or so behind where Qui-Gon lay. It was amazing the feeling of power that such a weapon gave you, the knowledge that nobody could dare attack without risking their own neck. At that moment even if Rufus Merdan himself were stood before her and not this pitiful boy, Jemmiah would not have flinched. Was this, then, how Merdan had felt before he had gunned down her friends that fateful day on Nargotria as she had fled for her life? The memory caused her lip to curl in revulsion, snapping her back to the present, the blaster feeling suddenly unwelcome in her grasp. She turned; throwing the weapon towards the sea and watching as the waves engulfed the gun, dragging it out of sight.

That left the matter of the boy, and more importantly Qui-Gon. Jemmiah found her voice becoming instantly more clipped and fragile as it inevitably did when defensive.

"What did you do to him?" She asked coldly, nodding her head at the Jedi. "Will he be okay?"

The youth swallowed back a large lump in his throat and at first seemed reluctant to answer.

"Well?" Jemmy demanded, waiting impatiently.

"I stunned him." Admitted the boy in a croaking voice, which, although it had broken, was far from mature.

"With the gun?" Jemmiah persisted in her interrogation.

He shook his head.

"What then?"

Again the reluctant pause. "You wouldn't understand."

But Jemmiah was very far from not understanding. His dress was slightly ragged but simple in style; loose fitting tunic and trouser pants in some vaguely grey shade, whilst his hair was cut in a manner that suggested an attempt, albeit a poor one, to copy the fashion of a very familiar group of people. Everything, even the thread bare fabric belt tied around his waist had more than a suggestion of the temple about it.

"You're a Jedi, aren't you?" Jemmiah replied, feeling confidence in her deductions. She knelt down beside Qui-Gon once again and lightly brushed the sand from his cheek. "You used the force to stun him."

The boy shook his head. "I'm _not_ a Jedi. But yes, I did use the force."

"Don't you know it's wrong to use the force for evil purposes?" This time Jemmy's voice sunk back into her customary Corellian drawl. "Do you know what you've done? You've only injured one of the temple's greatest - if not _the_ greatest - Jedi masters! And if you think _he'll_ be unhappy with what you did when he can move again you just wait until the council finds out what you did!"

"I…I don't usually use the force like that." His mannerism became meek, almost cowed. "I use it to help! I can heal things…I helped my master when she fell and broke her leg half a year ago. Admittedly it's perhaps not as good as it could have been but considering the mess it was in I think I did quite well…"

"Why didn't you take her to a proper medic?" Jemmiah frowned, already beginning to make the leap in logic. "Because you can't? You live here in exile, don't you? By yourselves?"

He nodded slowly. "We…we like to keep private. Away from anyone who comes here."

"And is this," Jemmiah wiped at Qui-Gon's blooded nose with her untied head-scarf, "what you do to people who get too close?"

His silence told her everything she needed to know. Maybe _he_ would never harm anyone: perhaps _he_ could never bring himself to kill when he believed in saving and preserving life, but what about this master of his? And what kind of Jedi master told a padawan to kill someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"You're scared of your master, aren't you?" Jemmiah added mercilessly, knowing that she had touched a nerve by the way that the boy blinked repeatedly as if trying to stave back tears. She knew what it was like to be afraid of the people she lived with. She also knew what would have happened to her had Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan not rescued her from her Nargotrian hell…

"I love her." The boy protested, before adding in a whisper; "but I am afraid of what she might make me do."

Jemmy looked him over before finally dismissing him as of no further threat. Her major concern was Qui-Gon, and making him well enough to find this so-called master and sort her out! The poor boy was so dispirited and hurt, as downtrodden as any slave she had ever met. And then there was the startled, almost wistful way in which he stood and watched as she tended to her beloved guardian. Was he wishing that he had a real master, the way that Obi-Wan did? One that didn't frighten him into doing her dirty work for her?

"You can help me with him." Jemmy sniffed imperiously. "Seeing as how it's your fault he's like this in the first place."

"He'll be fine." The boy took a few half-hearted steps towards her. "All I did was a reverse healing…instead of using the force energy to accelerate restoration I sort of sucked it out…but the force will return to him soon, I promise." His eyes shone eagerly, as if determined to make amends for his previous actions. "There should be no ill effects at all."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Jemmy growled up at him. "If there were you'd have me to deal with!"

His expression of dismay returned. "I'm _truly_ sorry for what I did - I mean it! You know, if I really had wanted to shoot you I could have used the force to whip that blaster from mid-air before it landed in the sea. One split second and you'd have been dead!"

A hard prodding - like that of a finger against his spine - rudely interrupted his train of thought. Spinning round the youth found himself staring directly into the face of a slightly older man, stripped to the waist and somewhat damp and tousled in appearance. Light framed he might well have been but his added years also gave him a height advantage of half a head. Two ice-blue eyes stared back appraisingly, matched uncannily by the colour of the lightsabre blade now extended in his direction.

"I don't think so." Obi-Wan replied casually. "Do you?"


	2. Chapter 2

Dismay turned rapidly to disbelief and indignation at the way in which he had been caught out. For all that he could harness the power of the force the young man had not sensed for a moment that he had been under observation, nor had he been aware of Obi-Wan's presence as the padawan had stalked him from behind. There had been nothing - not so much as a flicker - in the girl's gaze to give away that something was amiss and now the boy began to realise precisely how out of his depth he was.

"W-where did you come from?" Stammered the youth, his stare alternating between the figure of the apprentice and the chestnut haired girl.

"It's hardly important." Obi-Wan found his eyes straying over to Qui-Gon, his mouth quirking into an annoyed pout. "Let us just say that I have been watching you ever since you first appeared. The moment you had attempted to shoot my master and you would have found yourself standing on your head, up to your neck in sand." He paused, adding with a certain wickedness, "And the moment you'd tried to shoot Jemmy you would have found yourself sliced, diced and feeding the fish in the sea."

Stoutly the boy puffed out his chest. "Don't you know it's wrong to use the force for evil purposes?" He replied, quoting Jemmiah directly. He was pleased to see that this response had elicited a smile from the Corellian girl, but the padawan did not seem so easy to placate.

"I think that it is highly ironic that _you_ are asking that of _me_." Obi-Wan answered stiffly. "You may be able to use the force but you are certainly not adept in all the Jedi arts. Do you not know how to shield your presence? You stuck out like a beacon in the night!"

Again the surly expression threatened to creep back on the boy's face and this time Obi-Wan decided to keep his criticisms to himself. He walked over to Qui-Gon and knelt down beside him, checking the pulse in his neck, then moving a finger back and forth to see if his master's eyes would follow. Satisfied that the Jedi was in relatively good shape Obi-Wan turned back to face the youth and stared at him, deciding what was best to be done.

"You can help me carry my master back to our ship." He said finally. "I think that is the least you can do to help. I am sure he will recover quicker there - out of harms way."

The words remained unspoken but the boy caught the hidden meaning: away from his master…on their own territory, so if he should try another attack they would have the advantage. A surety against any hostile action that might be taken against them. Whilst he couldn't bring himself to blame them for their distrust he wasn't certain he cared for the way that the balance of power had shifted away from him so rapidly. But he said nothing, merely walking over towards the broad figure of Qui-Gon Jinn with Obi-Wan's ever-present gaze falling squarely upon his shoulders.

Even with the force to aid them, trying to wrestle Qui-Gon into a position where they could slip their arms around his shoulders and drag him to his feet was almost impossible. The boy was not particularly tall and Obi-Wan at nineteen years of age had not yet finished his growth spurt. Qui-Gon was as substantial and well-built as a two hundred year tree. With red faces both Obi-Wan and the youth began to struggle to pull the master along beside them whilst Jemmiah, her concerns for her beloved Quiggy put to one side, found herself enjoying the sight of their exertions.

"Where's this…ship…of yours?" The young man asked, finding it easier to address Obi-Wan as an equal now that they were suffering in the same way. "How…far?"

Obi-Wan released a deep breath. "Over two miles away."

The boy groaned but realised that as the whole thing was his fault he really didn't have grounds for complaint.

"I just hope…I don't…drop him." He gasped, beads of sweat beginning to build upon his brow.

"Don't you dare." Qui-Gon managed to grumble through a mouth that hardly seemed to open.

The boy swallowed. "I'm sorry, truly."

"Save it for when I can move…"

At this Jemmiah tittered, and Qui-Gon just about found the strength to shoot her a warning glare.

The sandy haired boy struggled to get a firmer grip around Qui-Gon's shoulders, likening the whole experience to a really bizarre dance. Every time he thought he had a secure grasp the man's body would slacken and drag along the ground on his knees with the flexibility of a sack of gourals. Breathing heavily, he offered his name in the hope of breaking through the inevitable barriers that existed between them.

"My name is Mortimer." He offered shyly.

"Is it." Obi-Wan did not seem overly impressed by the revelation. "Well, I don't particularly care what you choose to call yourself, so long as it doesn't impair your ability to carry semi-conscious Jedi masters." And with that he attempted to haul Qui-Gon back on his feet, well aware that his master would not be enjoying this latest indignity one little bit.

Jemmy pulled a face. "Why not float him along with the force?" She asked, waving her hand magically in the air.

"Because I'm not letting you." Qui-Gon muttered malevolently.

"You'll wreck your back again." Jemmy warned him, tutting at his stubbornness. "That's if your knees don't give in first. I must say, that will be a first - me sticking bacta pads on _your_ scrapes rather than the other way around…"

Jemmiah continued to babble, but Obi-Wan could tell it was calculated to take Qui-Gon's mind from the humility of being half-dragged along the shore. For his part the master closed his eyes, concentrating as best he could on rehabilitating his body, focusing on directing his tenuous grasp of the force towards his weary legs. The boy - Mortimer - struggled as best he could to hold onto Qui-Gon although seemingly lost in thoughts of his own. This time however there was no sign of the brooding face or the desolation and loneliness Obi-Wan had witnessed on the beach; rather he appeared baffled…lost…utterly bewitched by Jemmiah's chattering.

_He can't be sixteen, probably not even that._ Obi-Wan spared Mortimer a quick glance. _And he's been here on his own for how long? Maybe he's never had any company save for his master. What must he make of us?_

It might explain why, despite the terrible action he had taken against Qui-Gon, he remained desperate to stay with them. Obi-Wan could sense the dreadful, empty yearning…the desire for company. To live so long in virtual isolation must surely be intolerable? How could it be borne? What kind of master would hide away with only their padawan for company? It did not speak well for their sanity, thought Obi-Wan grimly, feeling strangely concerned for Mortimer despite the nature of their first meeting.

Mortimer's eyes were frequently seen to stray towards the gregarious, excitable figure of Jemmiah but that was understandable. She was lively where the Jedi might - at first glance - seem dull. Her smile, which came readily, brightened the blackest of moods. And of course, Obi-Wan remembered with a wry smirk, she was female - and from what he gathered Mortimer had never met one of those, his master apart. Small wonder if the boy was having difficulty concentrating on hauling his master's carcass towards the ship.

_Poor boy. _Obi-Wan noted sympathetically. _His first and last contact with a pretty girl and it happens to be a Corellian. He won't know what to think…_

Actually, he probably had quite a good idea of what to think. Just so long as Qui-Gon didn't catch him thinking it…

* * *

After what seemed like a lifetime of dragging, hobbling and - when nobody was looking - a little force-cheating, Obi-Wan and Mortimer finally managed to lug Qui-Gon up the ramp of the ship, laying him gently down upon the floor. Mortimer, his face red and perspiring, puffed breathlessly for a moment as Jemmiah bent down to make sure that Qui-Gon had come through the ordeal without any further injury.

"How's the shnoz?" She asked, tapping the bridge of her nose. "It seems to have stopped bleeding. Must have been some force that hit you…if you pardon the pun."

"I feel," Qui-Gon managed wheezily, "as if I've been the mallet used in a game of Hutt croquet. But I can just about feel my own legs again, thank you." He eyed Mortimer for a moment, although not in a particularly judgmental manner. "I've been worse."

Jemmy gave him a brief hug. "Thought you were a goner for a moment, Master J."

"I could say the same about you!" Qui-Gon glared back, managing to press a hand against his ribs. "But that can wait until I'm fit enough to argue!" His blue eyes darted once more towards the contrite youth who looked almost as ashamed as he was exhausted. "No doubt this young man can use some more of his fancy tricks to help speed up that inevitable confrontation, hmm? Or are you as good a healer as you claim to be?"

Mortimer stopped slouching and pulled himself upright. Was this some kind of a test? Why should the Jedi give him any kind of a second chance considering that he had almost murdered him barely an hour before? Alarm bells began to ring on the boy's head. Was this a trap? And if it were not, what would his master do when she found out he'd not only failed to dispose of the Jedi but was helping them into the bargain?

"Am I a prisoner?" Mortimer asked with a boldness he did not truly feel.

"The Jedi do not take prisoners." Obi-Wan replied, using the force to hit the mechanism that pulled up the ramp. "At least not unless necessary."

The doors behind Obi-Wan closed together with a funereal clang like the shutting of a giant tomb. Mortimer shuddered, the brilliant sunshine that had moments before bathed his back now turning to icicles down his spine. He pictured his master's features, young yet hardened, her disappointment turning to loathing and disgust.

How would he ever dare return to face her?

Obi-Wan paused long enough to rub at his aching back. He was beginning to understand why Qui-Gon insisted on these strengthening exercises: obviously he has foreseen occasions when carrying comatose Jedi masters around might well arise and had taken steps to prepare accordingly. Probably after the once yearly 'dangerous missions' that he, Masters Berlingside and Windu liked to undertake. Dangerous? Obi-Wan snorted contemptuously. The most dangerous thing was likely to be the stress of navigating their way from one cantina to another. Either that or avoiding the stampeding feet of Mace as he ran to escape opening his pocket book…

"Mortimer, help me carry him to his cabin." Obi-Wan sighed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Then you can have your chance to impress us with your healing talents."

But Jemmiah was far from happy. She stood blocking the exit, deliberately barring the way. She'd felt sorry for Mortimer, it was true, but he was a stranger amongst them! If anyone should be allowed to tend her beloved Quiggy then it should surely be herself?

"I _want_ to help!" She pouted, hands on hips.

"You can," agreed Obi-Wan, "by standing aside."

"But…"

"Can you heal him?" He cut the protestations off before Jemmiah could launch into an impassioned plea about the delicacies of medical matters needing a woman's touch.

"No…"

"Can you use the force?"

"Well, no…it's just that…"

"Good." Obi-Wan and Mortimer grabbed hold of Qui-Gon again, who just about had the strength to roll his eyes. "That settles it then."

Jemmiah jumped aside in order to avoid being carried away by the on-coming tide of human traffic but had the wits to fry Obi-Wan with a ferocious glare as he swept past with Qui-Gon tucked under his arm. Mortimer shrugged apologetically with his one free shoulder, not knowing what else to do. Family disputes were not really within his level of understanding, and the relationship between the Corellian and the padawan was perplexing at best.

As if to assuage her fears Obi-Wan called over his shoulder, "Do not worry. Everything is under control," and then disappeared out of sight.

Jemmy rested her head against the wall, crossed one foot casually over the other and then counted to ten.

After a vague shuffling noise in the corridor accompanied by the sound of something heavy being dragged along the ground Obi-Wan and Mortimer briefly reappeared, still lugging the now protesting Qui-Gon in the opposite direction to which they had originally gone. Jemmy flashed a victorious grin at Obi-Wan.

"The cabins are _that_ way, Ben." She pointed, shooting him an insolent wink. "But hey, you won't need me to tell you that, coz you've got everything under control…"

Obi-Wan thinned his lips, lowered his head with renewed determination and marched away, not caring whether Qui-Gon and Mortimer followed or not, or if his master's arms were pulled out of their sockets in the process.

* * *

When Obi-Wan returned it was to face a pointed and stony silence. Jemmiah sat in the recreation room with a jewel encrusted compact in her hand, making the most of Qui-Gon's absence by applying a stronger shade of gloss to her lips than he would normally have approved of. It was a sure sign that she was truly annoyed, Obi-Wan thought with a shake of his head, when she re-applied lipstick that did not need touching up. Some people sought solace in alcohol: others in food. With Jemmiah it was invariably make-up or clothes. Most often both, if her uncle's budget would stretch to it. Which, given the sparkling compact, seemed more than likely.

He'd been harsh with her - teased her as he always did - but he'd pushed his luck too far on this occasion. Her back was turned to him and it stayed deliberately so even when he politely 'coughed' to make his presence known.

"Ahem." He coughed a little more loudly this time. "Something tells me I'm not your favourite person at the moment, is that correct?"

"Why are you asking _me?" _Jemmy growled without even turning to face him. "I don't have the force. I can't read minds or heal people. I'm useless, remember?"

"I never said that." Obi-Wan replied calmly.

"As good as!"

"All I was concerned with was making sure that Qui-Gon received the best medical attention. Surely you can appreciate that?" He asked, trying to play on her natural concerns for her guardian. _"You_ couldn't help him. If _I'd_ tried to heal him I'd probably have engineered the force into growing an extra arm or head." His attempts at humour did not seem to appease her, so he tried to be practical instead. "It had to be Mortimer. You can see that, can't you?"

"We don't even know him!" Jemmiah replied, instantly sounding as petulant as any fourteen-year-old might in the circumstances. "We've known him for how long? A little over an hour! And you've left him in there - a person who tried to kill Quiggy - with his intended victim? Why do you not have a problem with that?" She began violently applying her lipstick once again.

"You were the one who seemed so taken with him." Obi-Wan felt the need to point out. "Besides, he's no threat. I can sense everything that's going on. He may be force sensitive but his shielding is non-existent. If he had any further murderous intent I would sense it instantly."

"Probably too late." Jemmy answered morosely, brandishing the lip-gloss with exaggerated movements.

Obi-Wan decided it was probably the right time to apologise and ventured to sit down in the seat next to her, risking a smile as he did so. Jemmiah didn't look at him, nor did she seem quite as hostile as she had before. Progress of sorts, he realised, knowing that the fastidious examination of her appearance was just a smokescreen to hide her real feelings. He held out a hand, waiting to see if she would accept the truce.

"Sorry?" He offered hopefully. "I meant what I said, Jemmy. He's no threat to Qui-Gon, in fact my master seemed particularly keen to hear what Mortimer had to say and no doubt would prefer to do so without an audience: that's the only reason I cut you out. If it's any consolation Qui-Gon more or less threw me out the room, too. At least he would have done if he could move properly…"

That at least appeared to cheer Jemmiah up enough for her to put her compact away and shake - albeit reluctantly - Obi-Wan's outstretched hand. He relaxed slightly, pleased to see her mood lighten a little.

"Thank you!" He bowed his head graciously towards her. "And don't you worry about a thing: I've smoothed it over with Mortimer. You don't have to apologise to him for your baffling behaviour. He was quite concerned that he'd caused ructions between us both but I told him that you enjoyed arguing and that it made you happy…"

Jemmiah squealed at him, smacking Obi-Wan roundly on the arm although grinning as she did so.

"You kriffing vrelts dropping!" she yelled at him. "You big, steaming heap of Bantha…"

"Disgraceful." Obi-Wan bantered right back. "I'm sure Evla didn't bring you up to use such colourful terminology. But I won't tell her, seeing as how Mortimer will be sleeping in your cabin."

Jemmiah continued to playfully slap at him until his words finally began to sink in. Her hand faltered, hovering momentarily in mid-air before it slowly fell back down towards her lap.

_"My_ cabin?" She queried. "Why is he sleeping in my cabin? Why is he sleeping with us at all? We're supposed to be leaving today - a one day stop before returning to Coruscant, Master J said…"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. "He can't stay on this planet. Surely you understand that? His so-called master obviously has little or no respect for life; certainly not that of her padawan considering what she made him do. One way or another, Qui-Gon will insist that Mortimer returns with us."

But Jemmiah did not look so certain. "Maybe he won't want to come back with us. What are you going to do? Kidnap him? Lock him in binders if he doesn't agree? That makes us as bad as this crazy master of his!" She saw the sad, gentle look in Obi-Wan's eyes, the one he always treated her to whenever he humoured her…whenever he believed she was too young to understand, or lacked the wisdom and insight bestowed by the force. "I know what it's like to have to make that choice, Ben. In my case you might think there was no choice at all: stay and be killed or leave and have a chance. But it's still frightening! Even although it may seem like common sense to you, sometimes it seems better the devil you know than the one you don't! Mortimer might _want_ to stay with his master, even if she is a little crazy. And what right have we to interfere?"

"Because to leave him open to such abuse - to such evil intent - would be to condone it." Obi-Wan replied sharply. "And before you say it, I'm not unsympathetic to your words. But if he stays there is a chance that one day this woman might strike out against him, even if she does not intend to do so. He's already afraid of what she has tried to make him do. If she 'trains him' in anger and fear, she's leading him down the path to the darkside. It's only his good nature that seems to have counteracted this strange desire for isolation at all costs. And does she seem like a suitable candidate to train a padawan? What crime has she committed to be exiled on this planet in the first place?"

Jemmiah chewed fretfully at her lower lip. "No crime. If she had, the council would know about it. If she's worried about being discovered and getting rid of witnesses then it's because she doesn't want to be found. Her exile is self-imposed, I'd say. She's running from something."

"Or someone?" Obi-Wan wondered out loud, impressed with Jemmiah's logic.

"Maybe. Perhaps she just wanted to be alone. People shut themselves off, don't they? When they're troubled…" The Corellian reflected, her eyes focusing on the floor. "In the hope of being safe…"

"Then perhaps if Mortimer came back with it would be a good thing for her also." Suggested Obi-Wan, running a hand over his rather long and untidy padawan cut. No doubt Qui-Gon would insist that he had it cut the moment he had regained the ability to hold a pair of hair trimmers. "Maybe she will seek help. The soul healers, perhaps?"

But what would Mortimer's ultimate fate be? It was highly unlikely, given the peculiar background he shared with his master, that he would be offered a place at the temple. Certainly he had been trained in the ways of the force from an early age, yes; but what ways? And by a master who advocated murder just to protect them from discovery?

"She's damaged, Ben. These kind of people never seek help on their own. It's easier to suffer alone - and lash out at the world. Even the people you love best."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Then perhaps she's beyond assistance."

He didn't notice the disappointment in Jemmiah's eyes. She pulled her legs up towards her on the seat, hugging her knees to her. If her problem lay with not having Obi-Wan's force-related insight, then his invariably stemmed from not being able to look at the galaxy in any way except from a Jedi's point of view. It must be so easy to sit there and make judgements with all the temple's rules and regulations at your disposal, or with Master Yoda's words of wisdom to keep you on the straight path. To one who had suffered and understood self-destruction Jemmiah often found the Jedi view a very narrow one indeed.

"Yes." She said, turning her head away once again. "You're probably right."


	3. Chapter 3

Even having accumulated half a century of wisdom and experience it never ceased to surprise Qui-Gon how quickly things could take an unexpected turn.

It had been one of the few times since Jemmiah had come to live with them some four years before that they'd vacationed together. Not that Jedi had proper vacations, although it certainly seemed more of a holiday with Jemmiah in tow than the routine he'd planned for his padawan. It had been an officially sanctioned window in their busy schedule to allow Obi-Wan - and himself also - to try out certain training scenarios under strict conditions. For Jemmiah it would be the first time she had travelled anywhere with him since the unfortunate business with Riarda and his father. Her agreement to accompany him on that occasion had been reluctant, and given that she'd been forced to watch two grown men fight to the death over her he was frankly astonished that she'd consider journeying with him again…

He'd wondered how much that incident still played on her mind. No matter how he'd tried to get her to talk about it she would simply dismiss it just as she might any of her problems. It was past history, she would say - and perhaps she was right. After all, wasn't he the one who set so much store by living in the moment? To him the time shared with Jemmiah was every bit as important as that spent with Obi-Wan, for it allowed him the chance to understand her better. She was changing so much of late, blossoming before his eyes into a determined, beautiful creature. Somewhere along the line the little girl he'd rescued had grown up…and he had missed it. This had been a great opportunity to re-establish that bond of trust and love and it had all gone according to plan - until Mortimer had burst in on them. If she had been hurt…he would not have forgiven himself.

Or her.

He shook the thought from his mind. Recriminations could wait: instead Qui-Gon decided to use the current situation to his advantage. Whilst he was lying helpless on the fold down bunk he might at least be able to make some progress where Mortimer was concerned. It wasn't as if the boy could run away when he was in the middle of a healing session...

"Tell me, Mortimer." Jinn adopted a pleasant manner, allowing a certain degree of curiosity to penetrate his words. "You've lived on this planet for how long?"

Mortimer squirmed visibly. No doubt he had anticipated the line of questioning and was trying unsuccessfully to think of a way to get out of answering anything that proved too searching.

"Fourteen years, sir. At least I think so: I've never really been too certain of the precise time. But for as long as I can remember." He placed his hands either side of Qui-Gon's head but did not allow his palms direct contact with the master's skin. "This planet is all I know."

Qui-Gon digested that slowly. "Were you born here?" He asked finally, sensing once more the flicker of discomfort that flared as a result of his question.

"I don't _think_ so." Mortimer closed his eyes, trying to focus on his task. "My master never told me about the circumstances in which we came to be together. All I know is that she is the first face I remember…and just about the only one since. She's always been with me…she devotes herself to my training. Sometimes I think she's _too_ involved, if it's permitted for me to offer criticism of a master?" He squinted at Qui-Gon through a half-open eye, relaxing fractionally on seeing Qui-Gon's smile. "I wasn't sure if such a reproach was allowed. The temple sounds so interesting…but my master never seems to want to discuss it unless to criticise. If I ask her about the rules and the way of life on Coruscant she just laughs and says that on this planet we can make up whatever rules we want." He swallowed nervously; aware he was dealing with an illustrious Jedi master. "It never feels right, somehow…laughing at the temple. It don't thinks she has much love for the place."

Jinn felt the glow of the force surrounding him, wrapping him within a cocoon of light. The energy - that sense of raw power - shone directly from the boy, permeating through every cell in his body replacing the numbness with warmth. The sensation might have lacked the sheer impact of the stun Mortimer had employed earlier but no less caught him off guard. He could feel the conscious effort the young man was making to channel the healing energy into him and instantly relaxed, pushing aside his earlier doubts.

The boy was talented: he had not over-exaggerated his abilities. Whatever his master's faults she hadn't completely neglected his training. But this was a natural skill that seemed to stem not only through the force but something equally deep seated: a personality that was every bit as robust and quirky as Jemmiah's.

_If only he could have been raised on Coruscant._ Qui-Gon reflected silently as Mortimer continued to repair the effects of the stun against his body. _What an asset this boy might have made!_

He doubted that the collective wisdom of the council, such as it was, would allow him to stay within the temple as a padawan. The usual arguments would no doubt ensue and this time they would have a better reason to band together than they had against Jemmiah. But there was one thing that intrigued him above all else: the circumstances that had brought Mortimer to this planet. Either through genuine ignorance or convenient amnesia, as Jemmiah called it, the young man did not seem able to tell him anything of his background. Perhaps another tack was called for?

"What is your master's name?" He asked carefully.

This time the reaction was instant and dramatic. The warmth of the force healing cut off in the same way someone might turn off a light.

"W-why would you want to know that?" Mortimer asked, fixing Qui-Gon with a wary look.

"Well," Qui-Gon found the strength to shrug, "I might have heard of her. I just wondered if I knew the name?"

Mortimer's shoulders sagged in relief, his face glowing once again. "With over 9,000 Jedi in the temple, sir? It's unlikely…"

"It's nearer 10,000 now." Jinn made a mental note of how relatively well informed Mortimer was for a boy who had never set foot on Coruscant. For someone who apparently had some kind of grudge against the temple it seemed his master had kept him well abreast of the Jedi way of life. The fact that she was still dressing the boy in Jedi style tunics was interesting to say the least. "But for all that it is possible I may have heard her name, back in the dim and distant past…"

An extremely uncomfortable silence followed whilst Mortimer debated the wisdom in further betraying his master's trust. If she could see him now, what would she think? His heart nearly dropped to his stomach in dread at the thought of disappointing her further…he cared for his master, yet couldn't bring himself to harm these people who had, somehow, managed to draw him into their world. The padawan - Ben Obi something or other - seemed amusing in an understated way, with a dry wit and a twinkle to his eye. Mortimer had found himself liking him instantly for all that he had been received with initial suspicion. The master was considerate, calm and strangely comforting, in a dependable way. It was difficult not to trust him. It was how he had always pictured the Jedi to be.

And the Corellian girl was just simply…lovely.

Mortimer sighed. It wasn't the first time he had wondered what life outside their small world must be like but never before had he felt so torn. His existence with his master was incomplete, and he knew it. She of all people must have felt his bottled up frustration at not being able to practice his skills. He glanced up from the floor and saw a near-recovered Qui-Gon Jinn staring him directly in the eye.

"Her name is Freyya Edritch." He mumbled, apprehensively waiting to see if the name stirred any reaction in the Jedi.

Qui-Gon frowned. Whilst the name didn't instantly awaken any memories nor did it completely sound unfamiliar. Of course Mortimer was most likely correct - 10,000 Jedi in the temple…not even Master Yoda knew everyone at one given time! Although giving her predilection for keeping her ear to the ground it was a fair bet that his first padawan G'emela did…

Freyya Edritch? It meant something…but he couldn't say what it was or where he had heard the name.

"No," he ventured after a while, certain that the force would bring enlightenment if he only gave it a chance, "I can't say that it means anything to me _at this moment_." The boy's relief was palpable and it caused Qui-Gon considerable sorrow to see the way the young man was torn. He evidently cared for his master, which surely said something in her favour? But she had omitted the one thing from his training that a good apprentice required: proper instruction. That he had got so far spoke more for the boy's integrity and affable nature than anything his so-called master had managed.

"Come with us." Qui-Gon spoke gently. "This is your chance, Mortimer. A chance to put the past behind you and start again. To maybe do something with those special force talents you have." He indicated the open doorway with a sweep of his hand. " When this ship leaves for Coruscant there will be a place onboard for you - if you want it. What do you say?"

Mortimer remained frozen where he stood, shocked beyond all reason. He'd hoped that such an offer would be made one day - that he would be able to shake the dust of this planet from his boots and fly away - to find a true place for himself within the galaxy doing what he did best: helping others. He'd dreamed of such a day.

Yet conversely he'd dreaded it too...

"I…I don't know." Mortimer mumbled, his chin against his chest. "I really don't know what to do. It's a big decision to make a moment's notice, sir. I've dreamed and hoped that my master and I would leave this planet and head to Coruscant but as time went by…" His green eyes flicked upwards, betraying his distress at the choice Qui-Gon was facing him with.

"It became obvious that your master was afraid to return to the temple?" Qui-Gon finished gently, rewarded by a guilty looking nod of Mortimer's head. "And that rather than face her own demons she would condemn both of you to a life of exile?"

The young man felt his throat tighten automatically. After all that his master had repeatedly drilled into him, here he was - discussing their life with total strangers. These particular strangers Freyya Edritch had feared beyond all measure: Mortimer had never seen her so utterly vexed. A threat to their security, she had called them. An obstacle to their continued peace and prosperity that had to be removed at all cost. Up until that point Mortimer had never really considered why his master should be so fearful of the Jedi, but when that final, fateful order had been laid upon him…

The blood in Mortimer's veins had run cold.

"My master has always been very kind to me, sir." Mortimer perched timidly on the chair next to Qui-Gon's bunk. "She's never harmed me or caused me any pain. But I've always known that she has a secret…something that she doesn't want me to know about. And she's always been afraid that we would get discovered sooner or later. It's a beautiful part of the planet that we live in, but it's rough…wild. That's why there are so few natives around. Every now and then people would 'drop in' unannounced."

"And," Qui-Gon's brow furrowed, "did your master deal with those unannounced people the same way that she asked you to take care of us?"

"No, sir!" Mortimer protested, his voice rising in defence of Freyya Edritch. "She used to mind-trick them and send them on their way…at least to start with. I think," Mortimer caught sight of the concern in Qui-Gon's eyes and gulped noticeably, "as time went on she felt that in order to stay safe more drastic methods were called for. We had a large party of travellers descend upon us last year…some kind of ghost tour. They say the area is haunted with wild spirits that drive a person insane. Of course, there aren't any wild spirits at all."

"Just you and your master." Qui-Gon sighed, liking the story less and less as Mortimer continued.

"Yes sir. It made my master very angry. I've never seen her so enraged! She rounded them all up in the cave down below on the beach." Mortimer hung his head in shame, his cheeks burning bright red. "And she mind-tricked all of them…wiped all of their memories. Reduced them to total amnesiacs…"

Qui-Gon's eyes flew wide open. "All of them?"

"It was the only way to stop them from coming, she said!" Mortimer answered wretchedly, all but wringing his hands. "That if they wanted a ghost story she would give them one…and that people would become too afraid to go near the area if word got around what had happened."

"But they kept coming?" Qui-Gon guessed. "Nothing like a little adverse publicity to draw in the crowds…"

"My master has always feared the day the Jedi would come." The young man scuffed his foot off the leg of the chair. "The ordinary folks she could tolerate because she knew she could fix them with mind-tricks. But ever since she broke her leg she's become increasingly paranoid. I asked her," Mortimer worried at a fingernail for a moment, chewing at the callused skin, "what would have happened if she had been there on her own? Or if we had both been injured? I've made good progress with the leg but she still limps quite badly. It's limited her agility and she isn't yet able to get about as well as she could. The last few times that people have come here," Mortimer spoke quietly, "I have had to be the one who has dealt with them."

"And when she sensed the presence of a Jedi…" Qui-Gon began.

"She panicked to start with. Like a trapped animal in a cage." The boy broke off, staring wistfully towards the corridor where he could sense Obi-Wan and Jemmiah bickering in a friendly, sibling-like manner. Was that what normal life was like? It had taken him fourteen years to appreciate it but life with Freyya Edritch seemed far from normal. "Then she got really mad when she realised she couldn't deal with you herself. She told me to dispose of you all…that we'd both be done-for if you got back to Coruscant alive. I begged her," Mortimer almost wailed, "not to make me do it but she said it was a trial…a test of my nerve and courage."

"I think you've shown more nerve and courage by confessing this to me than you ever would have in seeking our death." The master replied, clapping Mortimer on the shoulder. "But now you will have to show yet more by deciding…"

"…Whether to come with you." Mortimer finished Qui-Gon's sentence, his heart thudding wildly. On the face of it there was no decision at all to make. If he returned to Freyya without having slain the two Jedi and their companion he was afraid of what the consequences might be. It pained him to admit that he had now got to the point where he was scared of what his master, in her state of paranoia, might do were she to lash out.

But could he leave her behind? She would be on her own, unable to fully take care of herself. Would she be able to let him go? He owed her so much…Freyya had trained him, looked after him, brought him up by herself. How could he repay all she had done by stabbing her thus in the back?

Yet Coruscant called to him. Somehow, even in his dreams, it always had. It was as if the force was telling him that he was meant to be there.

"You must trust the force." Qui-Gon urged him. "Listen to it. Calm yourself…clear your worries from your mind. When you are at peace you will find the decision easy to make - whatever it should be."

Mortimer glanced sharply at the master. "You would not force me to come back?" He asked suspiciously.

"I would never force another being into doing anything they did not want to." Answered Qui-Gon with sagacity that might have done Master Yoda proud. "It is not the Jedi way."

That was the difference between the Jedi and Freyya Edritch, Mortimer thought with heart-breaking clarity. The Jedi taught tolerance and understanding from the cradle. The Jedi put other people first. Freyya always put herself first at the cost of all others. This was the lesson that the force was trying to teach him. If he stayed then he might always be afraid of what his master would make him do. Each new command would become more demanding - a further step down a dark and crooked path. At least if he was not around he might save her from that temptation…

But how could he abandon her to her fate? What kind of person would that make him?

"Talk to Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon suggested. "Ask him any questions you might have. You might find him more sympathetic than he first appeared: he has a tendency to over-react where my personal safety is concerned. If you want to join us then we will leave within the next few hours, before your master begins to wonder what has befallen you. If not…we will say nothing more of this and let you return."

"But you'll inform the council, won't you?" Mortimer stood up, feeling his knees shaking. "Whether I stay or go…they'll come after her."

Qui-Gon remained silent. He would have little choice but to inform the council given the way that Freyya had misused the force against innocent people. It would be out of his hands at that point, but the council would invariably sanction a search for Freyya and Mortimer too, should he unwisely elect to stay behind and share her fate. He had heard that in extreme cases the Jedi used individuals specifically trained in seeking darksiders and force abusers to hunt and on occasions remove the threat. Was that to be Mortimer's end?

_I won't stand by and let that happen._ Qui-Gon thought with renewed determination. _Obi-Wan will surely get through to Mortimer. I shan't let this talented boy throw his life away on a master who quite clearly has no right to that title…_

"I do not know." Qui-Gon lied, resting his head against the pillow. "That decision can wait…for the time being. In the meantime, if you could send Jemmiah to me I'd be most grateful. She and I have some words to exchange, I think."

"Don't tire yourself, sir!" Mortimer implored him, sounding more and more like a healer with every passing moment. "Allow the healing energy to do its work! If it's the young lady you seek I'll send her to you, but please don't argue! It will slow down the recovery process and besides, I don't want to be the cause of another argument."

Qui-Gon smiled indulgently. "Oh, do not fret for me. Jemmiah and I have a certain routine. It may take some time to get there but eventually we arrive at a point where, after debating matters for some length in animated fashion, things work out to our mutual satisfaction."

"How is that, sir?" Mortimer frowned.

"I end up apologising for something that she has done." Qui-Gon sighed, closing his eyes and nestling his head against the pillow. "And in return I get some peace and quiet!"

* * *

Peace and quiet was about the least accurate description that could be attributed to Obi-Wan and Jemmiah at that moment. Away from Qui-Gon's watchful gaze Obi-Wan found himself slouching on his chair, one booted foot crossed lazily over the other, browsing through what appeared to be data contained on a book screen. A small but noticeable smirk played at the corner of his lips as he scrolled to the next page, increasing to a full-blown grin as he continued to scan the words.

Jemmiah contented herself with chewing morosely on the end of a stylus, bored beyond all reason.

"Do you want to let me beat you at Sabacc again?" She asked hopefully, tidying a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Not particularly."

"Strip sabacc?" She added with a suggestively raised eyebrow.

Obi-Wan's eyes snapped up from the screen. "Jemmy!" He looked at her aghast. "Absolutely not!"

"Why?"

His brows came together to form a distinct furrow. "Because…it's positively indecent! You are only fourteen years old, and what is more," his face began to colour rapidly much to Jemmy's delight, "I have no wish to see you without any clothing! So stop being silly - and stop pretending to flirt with me! Qui-Gon would have a fit at the very notion of us playing sabacc, strip or otherwise!"

"I'm sure he _must_ have played it." She shrugged off the scandalised expression and the mildly disturbing sensation of Obi-Wan's eyes burning into her as she stood up and paced the floor. "I don't think Quiggy's as innocent as the driven snow. Besides, it's just a game. Unless you don't think I've got a body worth showing off…"

"I'm not listening." Kenobi repeated, swivelling his chair away from her. "You're my friend and sister. I don't care how pretty you've become. And I know you're only teasing me anyway, so you can get back to chewing your stylus," he grinned at her, "and let me get back to reading this story."

But Jemmiah wasn't listening. Instead she was transported with happiness, bounding over to Obi-Wan and clasping her hands together in delight.

"You _really_ think I'm pretty?" She asked, eyes gleaming. "Honestly?"

Obi-Wan peered at her over her shoulder, allowing him a swift up and down glance of Jemmiah's figure. She'd began to shoot up in the last year. Her face had less of the impish, elfin appearance so imprinted on Obi-Wan's mind that sometimes struggled to reconcile himself with the noticeable changes. Her hair no longer hung in a thick plat but in a stylish, loose flowing knot at the back of her head. The creature that stood before him was a young woman, not a little girl…and truth to tell Obi-Wan wasn't terribly certain how best to deal with her.

"Hardly any point in my repeating it," he admitted reluctantly, "when you know it for yourself."

He was rewarded by a large, sisterly - and deliberately sloppy - kiss against his cheek that left a large amount of residue red lip-gloss smeared on his skin.

"You're my _favourite_ Jedi." She beamed at him, standing over the back of his chair and hugging him, nuzzling her chin into the ticklish point where neck met shoulder blade. "Of all the Obi-Wan's that have ever lived you're the best!"

"I'm the only one." He snorted, not knowing with to be flustered or pleased at her playful antics.

"Only one Kenobi…yeah, I know. Heard it before." Jemmy tweaked at his little pigtail and was duly rewarded by a small "owch!" from her companion. "Seriously, I mean it. I read somewhere about alternative universes. Where there's another Qui-Gon and Ben and Jemmy all leading different lives because somewhere they took a different path. Scoff all you want!" She tightened her kittenish embrace, flexing her fingers as if they were felineoid claws set to scrape and pinch should he make a wrong move. "I'm tellin' ya! I read it!"

"Do you believe everything you read?" Obi-Wan asked her pointedly.

Jemmy wrinkled her nose. "Some things. For example, Derry wrote me a note last month saying I was the most beautiful girl at my school." She paused. "I believed _him_."

"Do not let Qui-Gon catch you with love letters!" Obi-Wan insisted, feeling suddenly perturbed at this hormonally charged inquisitive Jemmiah who still remained draped across the back of his chair. The embrace seemed somewhat less chaste and innocent than it had before, and that made him feel decidedly awkward. Strip sabaac…love letters…Obi-Wan did not want to guess where the conversation would turn next. "I can tell you right now that it will all end in tears. He adores you, Jemmy." The padawan's voice became unexpectedly serious. "He will do all that he can to protect you."

"Against Derry?" She asked scornfully.

"Against yourself."

Jemmiah's face became instantly sulky, almost petulant. Qui-Gon had invited her along on this trip and she was grateful for his attention, but if he was going to start laying down the law about who she could and couldn't see then what was the point of her being granted any freedom at all? Derry was just a silly boy…okay, he wasn't that silly. But he had always been one of the few people who had never actively insulted her or made threats to chop her into tiny bits and feed her to the Reptalons in the zoo. Besides, Derry had an older brother who raced swoops. If she hung around Derry long enough then perhaps she could get a proper introduction to him…

"If Qui-Gon adores me then I wish he would say so." She replied morosely, her hair tickling Obi-Wan's ear as she spoke. "Sometimes he looks at me as if I have six heads and ten tentacles…"

_Because he doesn't know how to cope with this new teenage Jemmiah any better than I do._ Obi-Wan smiled, knowing how inept his master felt at trying to find a way of treating her like an adult, rather than indulge her as if she were still a child. In Qui-Gon's eyes that was exactly what she remained: a little girl in need of protection from the temptations and horrors of life. _Well, he's more or less managed to shield her from the horrors since she came to Coruscant with us,_ Obi-Wan conceded, _But as for temptations it sounds as if she's beginning to discover these for herself. My poor master won't know what's hit him…_

"He prefers to show it, rather than say the words." Obi-Wan patted her on the wrist. "As do I."

Jemmiah cooed over him the same way she might an adorable, fluffy flirry-wing in a pet emporium.

"Awww…" She ruffled his spiky hair with her fingers. "That's a lovely thing to say! I think you are the most amazing person in the galaxy."

"This is true." Obi-Wan winked at her. "And don't you forget it."

Pause.

"Sure I can't interest you in the strip Sabacc?"

"Jemmy!" The padawan glared at her.

"Okay, okay…keep your braid on! I'm only teasing you." She gave up trying to picture Obi-Wan without his clothing, deciding it was far too icky a thought anyway even taking natural curiosity into consideration, and started trying to picture Denny's older brother instead. Now that had distinct possibilities, if only she weren't fourteen. On most planets those kind of thoughts tended to get you locked up. Or quite possibly, if Qui-Gon was involved, dismembered…

She looked down at the book screen with a puzzled frown. "What has you so enraptured anyway? I never had you down as a great reader of novels."

"Not as a rule." Admitted Obi-Wan. "But this is utterly riveting. It purports to be some trashy romance…you know, the kind that gets turned into a vomit inducing snooze-fest of a holo picture starring Lyfar Darrington. This however has it all: love, betrayal…disembowelment."

Jemmy's jaw slackened in shock. "Disembowelment?" She repeated.

"And it seems to have been written by a…er, let me see." He looked up at the wide-eyed Corellian. "A Jemmiah Angeline Gleshan!"

"My novel!" Jemmy yelled, making a lunge for the book screen. "You've been _reading_ my story! Give it back this instant you smear of Dianoga sputum!"

"But it's so good!" Obi-Wan grabbed the reading device and danced out of reach. "I especially love the bit where Prince Demnos asks all his courtesans to play strip Sabacc with him…"

"You piece of excrement!" Jemmy hissed at him. "Give it back to me _now!"_ She made a jump, and this time Obi-Wan allowed her to snatch it back from him. "I can't believe you did that! You of all people…I just finished saying how wonderful you are and all the time you're sitting there laughing at me!" The Corellian hugged the book screen to her as if it were some important treasure, just as she might her beloved diary.

"Now, steady on." Obi-Wan slid back out of striking distance. "I wasn't laughing at you. I was looking for something to read and this just happened to be the last thing left on the screen. If you want to make sure that your career as an author remains undetected," he admonished her gently, "you should at least remove the chip from the reading device. Besides, I rather enjoyed it…what I've read of it."

Jemmiah eyed him suspiciously. "Really?" She asked him, her foot tapping in barely concealed annoyance.

"It shows great ingenuity and wit." Replied Obi-Wan soothingly.

"It's not supposed to be a comedy!" Huffed Jemmiah, stalking back to her chair and throwing herself hard against the seat. "You have just killed my fledgling career as an author stone dead! Knocked my confidence to smithereens! Blasted it into oblivion!"

"But I liked it!" Obi-Wan held up his hands in exasperation. "Genuinely! And I'd like to know what happens next…"

"What happens next? I'll tell you what happens…the big-nosed Jedi padawan gets a good, hard kick in the unmentionables, that's what happens!" Snapped Jemmy, quite clearly determined to sulk. She sat there for a while, furious at the way in which Obi-Wan had been able to read her private, innermost thoughts. There had been a great deal of herself poured into her writing which no doubt Obi-Wan would have easily detected, especially if he'd read all the way up to the disembowelment! The humiliation was almost unbearable!

It had started as a silly exercise at school. From that point on a short story had blossomed into something greater, almost to the extent that her diary entries had suffered, becoming shorter and shorter - one compulsion replacing another. She'd never really expected to make a career out of writing in the way that someone like Precious Patooli or Raquel Paris had, but it had been fun. And now Obi-Wan had blundered in and spoiled it. Somehow it seemed like a lot less fun than before.

"So," Obi-Wan asked, "what did happen to Prince whatshisname?"

Jemmiah folded her arms crossly. "I killed him off."

"But why?"

"Because happy endings are so twee! And not remotely realistic." The scowl darkened yet further. "I killed everyone off. Except for the gardener…I liked him too much to kill him."

"Ah, yes. The gardener. He wouldn't have been the one who was based on Derry, by any chance?" Obi-Wan teased back as Jemmy shot back out of her chair and started assailing him with a series of bruising thumps to his upper torso and arm. "Or maybe it was me!"

"In your dreams, you loathsome, disgusting Nerf hurgler!" Jemmy continued to hit him until, looking down at the helplessly laughing Kenobi, she too broke down into tears of laughter. Her arms flailed and sides quaked as Obi-Wan hid his large grin behind a well-placed hand. Typical Obi-Wan! Making her laugh when she most wanted to murder him! Did he know the effect his gleeful chortling would have on her?

_Of course he does._ She realised with a sigh. _He's not stupid._

"What on Coruscant is a Nerf hurgler?" Obi-Wan chuckled, fending off her now a half-hearted attempt to land blows against him by playfully grabbing at her wrists. "Or do I not want to know?"

"A hurgler is a Corellian word for someone who has a fondness for…no, actually I'd better not say it out loud. I might embarrass myself." She glowered at him. "Don't think I've forgotten that you read my novel without my permission!"

"I don't think I can forget it either." Obi-Wan struck a pose, throwing himself into the role of the Prince with considerable enthusiasm. "Alas, my love…we are not destined to be together. For my father has chosen a bride for me…one with an artificial leg and one glass eye! But at least when she chases me round the bedroom I should be able to run faster than her…"

"I liked that part." Jemmiah giggled.

"But," Obi-Wan continued, twirling at his invisible moustache in a caddish way, "let us make the most of this moment and use it to the full..." He grabbed Jemmy's hands theatrically and tipped her backward over his knee, whilst she pretended to swoon in delirium, "and play one final round of strip Sabacc!"

It was at that moment that Obi-Wan became acutely aware of the small figure gawking at the open door. Jemmiah, sensing the way the padawan's body had tensed glanced up at almost the same moment in time to see a clearly bewildered Mortimer blinking his astonishment at the little scene played out before him.

"Hi." Jemmy smiled weakly at him.

"Er…Master Jinn wants to er, see you," he nodded at Jemmiah, shuffling anxiously from foot to foot as he did so, "and he also…er, wondered if I might…he said that I could…if you have the time to spare…" He gestured incoherently with his fingers. "I, er…think that…I'll just come back when you're not busy…"

And with that he turned and nervously slunk away.

"Great," Jemmy pulled a disgusted face, "Well, I suppose he had to learn the truth at some point."

"Truth?" Queried Obi-Wan, looking down on her.

"That if he comes with us he'll be trading one lunatic in for another…"


	4. Chapter 4

Qui-Gon lay, with his eyes closed, deep in thought.

He was turning over in his mind all the problems that might arise were he to take Mortimer back home with them to Coruscant. He was thinking of all the head-shaking and eye rolling that Mace and the rest of the Jedi council would resort to when he returned with another unfortunate waif in tow. Most of all he was thinking about the methods the council might employ in order to get Freyya Edritch to leave her bolt hole on T'sanzi and seek the help she undoubtedly needed…

Of course he could simply choose not to report the problem and leave Mortimer and Freyya to carry on with their lives undisturbed, but that would leave the way open for the boy's master to further abuse the force. And of course, sooner or later - just as Freyya had feared - someone would find them. Someone who might be less understanding and less willing to help. Who could say for certain?

His thoughts were disturbed by a tentative knock on the side of the open door, and when he glanced up he could see Jemmiah peering furtively around the wall. Her posture revealed her uncertainty and fear of confrontation whilst deep inside Qui-Gon could sense a stubborn determination not to let him get the better of her this time. There was a storm brewing, but Qui-Gon at least was prepared to let it pass as gently as possible.

"Come in." He gestured with his hand at the seat Mortimer had vacated a couple of minutes previously. "And shut the door whilst you're at it. I don't see why either Obi-Wan or young Mortimer should be privy to our sparring matches."

Jemmiah did as she was told, although she stopped short of sitting in the seat: preferring to stand and strike a suitably defiant pose into the bargain. This of course forced Qui-Gon to push himself into a half-sitting position to enable him to see her without being at an obvious disadvantage. So it had come to this, had it? Scoring points off each other the same way that her uncle Kelik might? Was this what she had learned on her last trip to Corellia?

"So you can move again? That's good, I guess." She didn't sound terribly enthusiastic, especially given the way that he was staring at her lip-gloss! "Look, I don't _want_ a sparring match." Jemmiah frowned at him, her teeth working relentlessly at some piece of 'bright gum' in the hope that it might lend her a more 'devil-may-care' attitude. "I'm not interested in fighting with you. All I want is to get back home to Coruscant and see Evla again."

Qui-Gon felt his spirits begin to fail. "Have you not enjoyed your time with Obi-Wan and myself?" He asked, feeling disappointed that his efforts to take a more active role in her life had seemingly gone wide of the target.

"I've loved it!" Jemmiah blurted out before she could stop herself. "I've loved almost every moment of it. It's been fun and interesting and involving. I know how much you've tried to include me in everything even although the trip's been about Obi-Wan's training…I've even enjoyed watching all the exercises you've given him! Especially when that shoal of fish kept following him around. Must have been the smell of his feet."

_"Almost_ every minute? What didn't you like?" Wondered Qui-Gon, trying to think where he might possibly have lost points.

"Hmm." Jemmy tapped at the side of her face as if agonising over the question. "Let's think about it, shall we? Maybe it has something to do with you almost getting blasted into the next life by a maniac boy armed with the biggest kriffin' gun you've ever seen?"

"Don't swear, Tangles." Qui-Gon frowned. "It's on this very matter that I wanted to speak to you."

"Argue with me, most likely." Countered the Corellian girl with an imperious toss of her head. "Well, I don't care what you say. I wasn't about to sit back and see you get fried, was I?"

Qui-Gon stared up at the ceiling, gathering his thoughts. "It was a foolhardy risk to your own life. You gambled that Mortimer wasn't prepared to shoot you…and it's not the sort of wager worth making, not with stakes like that. I won't have you throwing your life away on a pointless gesture."

Jemmiah felt the blood beginning to boil in her veins even although she was making a conscious effort to control her temper. Her hands balled against her hips and it was only after counting to five that she felt sufficiently calm to argue back without wanting to scream and hit her fist against the wall.

"I have lost so many friends to guns," she replied with a tremulous voice, "and I wasn't prepared to lose another one. Is that wrong? To want to keep you from harm?"

Qui-Gon was quick to note that the lecture had been neatly turned on its head. With a quick piece of smart-talking Jemmiah had managed to reverse the conversation so that it now looked as if he was the one being reprimanded for his behaviour, not the other way around.

"I am not important." The master shook his head. "This collection of old bones is not worth dying for, Jemmiah."

"I happen to _love_ that collection of old bones!" Jemmiah protested, hands on hips. "Next time you tell me off for making pointless, heroic gestures you might care to remember that!"

He didn't exactly know what to say in reply. As a person who was private and guarded against admitting how she felt Jemmiah's confession took him a little by surprise. It was at that point Qui-Gon realised that he too hadn't been as forthcoming with his own declarations of affection over the years as perhaps he should have in his capacity as guardian. Sometimes the need to be a Jedi warred terribly with his role of parent…

_I'm out of practice._ Qui-Gon realised with a guilty start. _The truth is that I have allowed Evla to express all the necessary declarations of love in my stead, and now I find it ridiculously awkward to do the same…_

"Thank you." He allowed himself a genuine smile of gratitude. "The feelings are more than reciprocated. I have perhaps been lax in telling you as much over the last few years. When Evla took over as your main guardian," he hesitated, trying to find the right words, "I maybe got out of the habit of telling you…of showing you that I still cared…"

Jemmiah shrugged. "It's not your fault. I've put it down to the Jedi being emotional cripples, so I never made that big a deal of it."

"I think I should resent that." Qui-Gon fixed unblinking eyes upon her. "But somehow I don't have the inclination to challenge it. As far as what happened on the beach is concerned, I will let the subject drop - with one proviso. That you promise me nothing like this will ever happen again…that you will never risk your life senselessly on my behalf."

"I wouldn't have called it senseless!" Jemmy pouted, stopping short of stamping her foot against the floor. "I would have called it darned brave!"

"Your bravery is not in question. Nor has it ever been." Qui-Gon nodded respectfully at Jemmiah, graciously conceding her point. "But bravery is no consolation to Evla or I if all it gets you is a berth on a mortuary slab. So," he allowed himself to lean back against the wall content that he had made his point, "do you promise to take more care before rushing in to situations without due thought?"

Jemmiah nodded. "Yes Qui-Gon." She agreed.

"And do you give me your word that you will not pull a stunt like that again?"

"No, Qui-Gon." She replied blithely.

"What?"

"I said no. Sorry Quiggy." She apologised, back tracking towards the door. "My life is mine to do what I want with. And if I think saving your hide is worthwhile, I'll kriffing well do it again, pardon my vile Corellian tongue."

"Jemmiah…" He growled at her.

"I shall do what I must. Isn't that what you keep saying?" She challenged him, deliberately adopting his gestures and standing in a typical Qui-Gon pose, legs slightly apart. "Maybe if you didn't keep ending up in situations where I needed to put my neck on the line we'd both be happier for it! You," she stabbed a finger straight at him, "attract misfortune! Always have done, always will do. And you know what? I think you relish it!"

Qui-Gon opened and closed his mouth as if considering denying the allegations, but never quite managed to do so.

"See? I knew it! You and Obi-Wan both…it's not possible for you to go on simple, boring missions is it? Everything has to be a crisis or a drama! Trouble sticks to you like a flea to a Tauntaun's belly! I sometimes think Ben's at risk of losing limbs just getting out of bed in the morning. Have you any idea how distressing it is for me? No? Have you even thought about it?"

She turned on one heel and marched towards the door. What Qui-Gon didn't see as she placed her hand against the opening mechanism was the large, crooked smile that continued to grow whilst the Corellian marched away, her back still to him.

"Tangles!" Qui-Gon protested, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. "Please wait a moment…"

Jemmiah continued to walk away but slowed her pace a fraction to allow him to catch up. She could hear him jog a few steps down the corridor before he too slowed his gait to match hers.

"Tangles, look…I'm sorry if this has upset you."

Well, it seemed she still had it! Even if he rarely brought himself to say the words it appeared he still cared enough to want to apologise: she could still bend him to her will. Shoozer, she'd trained him well!

"Apology accepted." She smirked smugly back at him. "Now, what say you we get something to eat, huh? Watching you nearly get murdered always gives me an appetite."

"Look, Jemmiah. I didn't try to get myself shot." Qui-Gon insisted.

"I know." She agreed pleasantly, knowing she had the upper hand. "You'd think you'd manage to sense some kind of danger, though. Seeing as how you are the rough, tough Jedi master of legend…"

"I'm not perfect, Tangles. Even I can't be infallible." He tried his best not to sound hurt. "Let's change the subject, shall we? What do you think of Mortimer?"

Jemmiah stopped dead in her tracks and fixed him with an unblinking stare.

"He seems okay." She shrugged. "I suppose of all the people who've tried to kill you he'd rank amongst my favourites, yes…"

Qui-Gon groaned out loud. "I thought we'd sorted this…I'm really sorry that I frightened you."

"That's okay." Agreed Jemmiah, hooking her arm through his. "I understand that even you have 'stupid days' as well."

As they walked into the small kitchen galley it occurred to Qui-Gon that, as he had predicted to Mortimer, he had indeed ended up apologising for something she had done.

But strangely enough, for that all too brief moment in which they could set aside Jedi issues and feel like a normal family unit…he didn't care.

* * *

Obi-Wan found Mortimer sitting against the airlock door, knees pulled up to his chest, in many ways mirroring Jemmiah's earlier defensive gesture. It was difficult not to feel some unhappiness at his predicament: either way the young man was faced with a most unenviable choice. Leave behind everything he had ever known, his master included? And for what? To go where? Some Agri-Corps planet to help raise crops and tend fields? When he considered that this had nearly been his own fate Obi-Wan allowed his sense of pity to get the better of him, and hunkered down on his haunches next to the boy.

"I wouldn't get into the habit of doing that." He nodded at the door. "That's the airlock. Harmless enough whilst stationary on a planet's surface but somewhat detrimental to a long and healthy life span if attempted in mid-flight."

"Oh." Mortimer looked over his shoulder. "I didn't know…I've never been onboard a ship, not that I can remember at least. Thank you for the warning. I'll bear it in mind if I decide to…" He allowed his words to fade into nothingness.

"Stay?" Obi-Wan finished for him. Mortimer nodded slowly, clearly undecided as to what he should do. "Look, I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. But for what it is worth I think there are two arguments to reconcile here. Firstly," he paused long enough to make sure he had Mortimer's full attention, "what is best for yourself, and secondly what is best for everyone else."

Puzzlement clouded Mortimer's green eyes. He tilted his head fractionally to one side like a curious cannoid, waiting for Obi-Wan to continue his explanation.

"My master is fond of saying that nothing happens by chance. And he's right: there's no such thing as luck. You could interpret our arrival here as misfortune, but equally it could be the will of the force that you return with us to Coruscant. Do you think," Obi-Wan sat down on the floor next to Mortimer, "that - removing your master from the equation for a moment - it is in your best interests to come with us?"

Mortimer nodded emphatically. "There would be nothing to keep me here were that the case. Yes, I would leave in a heartbeat."

"And," Obi-Wan continued, "if you are afraid of what you are becoming, is it not your duty to remove yourself from the cause of that negative influence? You have skills and abilities that could help others. It would be a terrible crime to see them be used for malign purposes. If you come with us you have a chance…"

But Mortimer wasn't stupid for all that he was naive and un-worldly. He knew enough about the workings of the Jedi temple from his master to know that those who didn't come up to their rigorous standards and flouted the code came in for censure, and those not deemed worthy were set aside. Freyya had told him of the children who never got a chance to unleash their full potential: the ones sent away…out of sight and out of mind. Why take them from their parents and then abandon them to fate? It didn't make sense…

"If I come with you it seems likely that I won't be allowed to stay at the temple." Mortimer rested his chin gloomily against his knees. "My master told me they don't allow children over thirteen to be trained as Jedi. I've already turned fourteen."

"You do have a better chance in some respects." Obi-Wan smiled quietly, trying to boost the boy's confidence. "You have been trained in the Jedi ways from birth! You have in fact received more training and attention on a one-to-one basis than most Jedi your age would expect to get, so in some ways you are already ahead of those your age."

"But I've had training that is flawed…" Mortimer swallowed noisily. "I have a master who never made it to full knighthood…"

Obi-Wan stared at him sharply. That would indeed possibly sway the council against allowing Mortimer to stay: padawans could not train padawans. It was part of the code. It only served to heighten his curiosity: what was an apprentice doing with a force sensitive baby in the first place? Was the child her own, perhaps? Was this the secret she had supposedly run from for so long? And if that was the case was there any benefit to be had in separating a mother and her child?

Qui-Gon would think of Mortimer first, whilst sparing a considerate thought for Freyya under the difficult circumstances. Obi-Wan likewise would side with his master. But Jemmiah…she was Corellian, and family loyalty played a big part of the Corellian psyche. She had lost her own mother at an early age and so her sympathy might tend towards Freyya, unlike her Jedi companions.

"I cannot say what might happen." Obi-Wan admitted with a delicate sigh. "I would be lying if I said otherwise. There is a strong possibility that the council might not permit you to continue your training at the temple. On the other hand, there are other options. There are Jedi retreats on certain planets, and they might suggest that you assist there…or there is always…er…"

"The Agri-Corps?" Mortimer chewed dejectedly at his lower lip. "I'm not sure that I could become a farmer. I like helping things to get better but I'm not sure that really extends to helping seeds to germinate quickly!"

Obi-Wan patted Mortimer once on the shoulder. "I know the feeling! But in truth, the Jedi have no authority over you at all. You have not been raised at the temple. If they didn't grant you permission to stay there would be nothing to stop you from going wherever you wanted to. Perhaps even working in a regular infirmary?"

Mortimer's eyes gleamed at the thought: it was so tempting to think that a goal like that might be attainable! But his master…always it came back down to Freyya. It broke his heart to think of her searching the whole planet for him, perhaps even injuring herself again. Who would heal her if she slipped and fell a second time? He'd been so sure he'd lost her before, as he sat for hour upon hour, day after day tending to her and begging the force to spare his master. Above all things Mortimer did not want to be alone.

And that was what he was condemning his master to were he to leave.

Yet Obi-Wan's words had brought him a little centre of clarity in an otherwise whirlwind, turbulent mind. The Jedi held the consideration of others to be of great importance, far greater than their own needs and emotions. By leaving now he might avoid the unnecessary suffering that the unwary visitors to T'sanzi underwent at the hands of his master. Whatever Freyya Edritch's secret, Mortimer felt certain that he was at the heart of it. She had protected him like a Rantiil tiger might her cub, with that same fierce determination and maternal drive. Everything she had done, good or bad, had been done for him. Now, were he to remove himself from her presence she would have no reason to 'defend' their freedom.

He tried to picture his master with a smile on her face - thin lipped but genuine for all that - and found himself thinking instead of the bright, radiant grin of the Corellian girl.

Mortimer blinked back his surprise.

"Are you and your master typical of the Jedi?" He wondered, his sandy brows arching quizzically. "You both seem…I don't know. You walk half a pace behind him."

"A question of observing the common decencies." Obi-Wan replied, full of admiration for Mortimer's observational skills. "And a matter of respect more than anything. Besides which, I can watch Qui-Gon's back more readily if I'm half there already."

"And," Mortimer gulped, "the er…your er…you know. Your friend…"

"Jemmiah?" Obi-Wan scratched amusedly at his chin. "What of her?"

"I didn't think the Jedi had relationships. My master said that entanglements were frowned upon." There seemed a strange mixture of hope, uncertainty…even excitement within his eyes. "Is she your girlfriend?"

Obi-Wan guffawed so loudly that it took Mortimer completely aback.

"By all the stars!" He exclaimed. "Jemmiah and myself? She is only fourteen years of age! Besides which…"

Mortimer grinned, his heart racing. "Oh, that's okay then. I was wondering if she might like to get to know me a little better. I mean, I've never seen anyone quite so lovely…come to think of it, I've never seen anyone at all. Fourteen years on a planet with only your master for company is quite incredible when you think about it." Now in his enthusiasm Mortimer's tongue at last appeared to have come unstuck. "I often wondered what it might be like to have a friend to talk to. Maybe even a female friend…you know. I think your Jemmiah's quite pretty…at least guess she is. I've not got anyone to compare it with other than my master and you don't really think of your master in that way. But your friend is just so warm and happy and friendly…it's like being greeted by a dazzling sunrise in the morning! When she smiled at me I got this incredible feeling…"

"She's my sister." Obi-Wan finished.

Mortimer met the padawan's gaze, and mouthed the word "oh" in a distinctly disappointed fashion. Did Jedi have family, he wondered? He was sure that his master had said that was pretty much taboo as well.

"Jemmiah came to stay with us in similar circumstances to which you now find yourself. We took her from a difficult and dangerous situation, but she found the determination to start a new life with us. The Jedi made her a special case and granted her sanctuary within the temple." Obi-Wan stretched his leg, aware of the pins and needles beginning to assault his numbed limb. "My master is her co-guardian, and as such makes her morally if not actually my sister. We both like to try and watch over her." It was said in a tone that implied a mild warning. "Although that is becoming increasingly challenging the older she becomes."

"So if I get to stay at the temple, she'll be there too?" Asked Mortimer with eagerness that Obi-Wan felt certain boded ill for the future.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Does this mean you've decided to come with us?"

Somehow, without realising it, Mortimer's hands stopped shaking. What had seemed moments before a matter of considerable agony had been smoothed away with reassuring words and the memory of a pretty smile. The turmoil had gone, and the centre of calm had spread to engulf the whole of his mind. All he had ever hoped for in life was respect, the chance to be good at what he did, and perhaps make a few friends along the way. Now, in the cold light of day, Mortimer knew what the force was telling him.

"Yes." He allowed his shoulders to slump in relief, as if a weight had been removed from them. "I'll come with you."

* * *

They had left almost immediately.

Mortimer was not a sentimental person: living virtually on his own for so long he'd been given very little to become sentimental about. Yet he found himself surprisingly melancholic as T'sanzi disappeared from sight, and with it the only home he'd ever known. And Freyya, his only tutor…

Jemmiah had lost count of the number of times he'd sighed, and began to find herself sighing along with him. She understood what he was feeling better than Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon, for all their Jedi insight. Maybe, when he'd gotten used to the whole space travel thing, she'd take him to one side and offer him a shoulder to cry on. Right now he looked more likely to up-chuck all over it, given his distinctly peaky looking complexion…

"You're not good with flying, are you?" She asked with a sympathetic grimace. "I know what that's like. Scare's the fleg out of me!"

Mortimer looked up at her, glassy eyed. "I don't know why I feel like this. It's as smooth as a river stone…no jolting or juddering. I just feel queasy."

"I'm no too fond of flying, myself." Admitted Jemmiah. "Every time the ship makes an unexpected noise I keep expecting it to drop like a stone and crash. I was in a ship that was shot down once." She explained to Mortimer, whose interest appeared suddenly to have been stimulated. Thoughts of his own master were temporarily pushed aside in the wake of such an exciting revelation.

"Really?" He leaned forward across the table. "What happened? Were you hurt?"

Jemmiah stopped playing with the food on her fork, putting the piece of cutlery back into the container. Her crash landing on Nargotria wasn't amongst her favourite memories. It had been the moment in which her existence had changed forever and not exactly for the better. Not until Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had entered her life…

"I was travelling with my family. I think it was a vacation that my Uncle had paid for as a birthday present to my mother. We'd visited lots of places, although I can't really remember them now. I was only five at the time." She apologised, seeing Mortimer eagerly about to ask her for details. The idea of a vacation, of seeing other planets and visiting different environs, was completely new to him. There was so much he didn't know about the galaxy! How he was ever going to fit in on Coruscant she shuddered to think. "And then we hired a ship to take us back to Corellia…and we got attacked."

"Attacked?" Mortimer frowned.

"Knocked out of the skies by pirates. We crashed on a planet called Nargotria. I wasn't really hurt, just frightened. But my mother had been knocked out by the accident and my brother…" She stopped, not wanting to dig further into the horrific memories of that which had followed. "My brother was killed. So were the crew."

Mortimer looked abashed at his earlier enthusiasm. "I'm so sorry. " He mumbled, not sure what else to say. "W-what about you? Were you rescued?"

Jemmiah gave a bitter bark of laughter. "Oh, yes. We were 'rescued' alright."

Naive as he was Mortimer had enough savvy to know when not to pursue what was clearly a painful topic. He remained curiously torn between wanting to squirm under a table and hide, allowing Jemmiah to get control of her quietly simmering grief, and wanting to reach across and pull her into a comforting hug. Neither was really an option considering the first would make him look decidedly odd and the second might not exactly go down well with Jemmiah - or indeed her guardians.

"I live with the Jedi now." She smiled in brittle fashion at Mortimer. "Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan rescued me from a living hell. They are my family…and the temple is my safe haven. I owe them so much…" She began to twist the fork once more around amidst the strands of pasta. "I was scared to leave my old life even although it was frightening and degrading, because I had to start all over again. I didn't know anyone or anything. I had no proper schooling. I felt so stupid most of the time…little things that people would take for granted like knowing how to work comlinks were beyond me to begin with. And the kids in my school hated me for being different to them." Jemmiah pushed her fork around in the sauce, making a figure of eight pattern in the carton. "I just wanted to say…I know what it's like. If things get difficult for you and you need to talk just let me know. Sometimes it helps to speak to someone that has the same perspective that you have."

And who had she to confide in? Her diary. A machine that stored away memories of her life, her dreams, her fears…good times and bad. There had been no such person there for her to talk to. Soul healers were so clinical; people who understood why things happened to make a person the way they were, but couldn't see past their own Jedi training to truly feel with their heart. There were things that she needed to confide in her diary that she would frankly rather die before confessing to Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan, for all their love. Evla was the closest thing to a soul mate that she had: a beloved friend and guardian, but Jemmiah was so afraid of losing her respect that she couldn't bring herself to open her thoughts to her either.

At least Mortimer wouldn't have that problem. He seemed resilient and quietly determined to make the best of a bad situation, not to mention in need of a good friend.

Mortimer responded by blushing to his roots. "Thanks." He said awkwardly. "That's kind of you."

Jemmiah smiled inwardly. The poor boy was going to be such fun to tease! He'd never even set eyes on a girl other than his master…no wonder if he turned red whenever she looked at him. Well, if Obi-Wan was no fun to torment then at least poor innocent Mortimer might make better sport. There was so much he hadn't seen or done…he hadn't even eaten a Takkini chip! No Corellian junk food on T'sanzi! How had he survived? Educating him was going to be a riot of fun!

"What do you think of the food?" She asked him, frowning down at the pasta strands in their garish orange coloured sauce. Jemmiah had not expected her answer to be greeted with such an overwhelming level of enthusiasm, but Mortimer's face appeared at that moment to be transported with delight.

"Oh, it's amazing!" He grinned, scraping up the last of the sauce with a spoon. "I've never tasted anything like it before! What is it?"

"It's just reconstituted pasta." Jemmy wrinkled her nose. "It's not even proper food! Shoozer, if that's what you're like with all these preservatives and things just wait until you try real food! What did you eat when you were on T'sanzi?"

Mortimer sighed. "Animals, mostly. And some edible plants that we found growing wild."

"Animals?" Jemmiah looked at him aghast. "You mean you killed your own food?"

"Well, as they didn't actually come marching up to our door demanding to be eaten," Mortimer quipped cheekily back at her, "I'm afraid so! It's not like I enjoyed having to kill things," he added hurriedly as Jemmiah grimaced in distaste, "I…I used to stun them with the force before I…you know." He swallowed, sensing his Corellian companion restlessly shifting about in her chair. "I didn't want to chase them or scare them. I tried to be as humane as possible…"

"So that's where the stun technique you used on Quiggy came from?" She asked him, twirling a strand of her hair enticingly in her fingers. "I sure hope you weren't planning to eat him!"

Mortimer shook his head. "No, he'd just get stuck in my teeth!"

Jemmiah laughed, tossing her head backwards and sending her wavy hair alluringly over her shoulders. This time Mortimer sighed again, but it was no longer thoughts of his master or memories of home that afflicted his heart.

The Corellian winked at him. "I like you, Mortimer. You make me laugh." She fluttered her lashes at him, just for good measure. "I think we can teach each other a lot."

And with that disconcerting thought she stood up and wiggled her way out of the doorway towards her own cabin, with Mortimer's eyes following after her every step of the way.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that last statement. Was it a declaration of friendship? Yes, that was it. Then why did he feel decidedly excited? Why was his heart thumping fit to burst against his chest? But at least he had a friend now, after fourteen years alone with only his master to speak to. And such an achingly lovely friend, too! Mortimer found himself hoping that Jemmiah would come back so that they could talk some more. ...

Then his eyes alighted on the half-eaten remains of the pasta in the container she had been eating from.

"If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with." Mortimer told himself as he began to dig into the pasta and transfer it to his own container. "And I love this food!"

Thus relegating both Jemmiah and his master to the back of his mind, Mortimer found himself savouring a whole new experience: the delights of the pre-packaged convenience meal.


End file.
